The Light in Your Eyes
by Benevola
Summary: Alistair has feelings for the Lady Aeducan, but can’t figure out what is bothering her so much. Set on the road to Orzammar. Pre-rose.


**The Light in Your Eyes**

Alistair/femAeducan

_Alistair has feelings for the Lady Aeducan, but can't figure out what is bothering her so much. Set on the road to Orzammar. Pre-rose._

Alistair was confused.

Alistair was confused.

He was sitting on a log in camp, elbows resting on his knees, chin in hands. He sometimes thought of it his "thinking" position. Right now, he didn't know _what_ to think.

It had all begun a couple of days before, about the time they decided that their next stop should be Orzammar to visit the dwarves and hopefully persuade them to honor the treaties. The elves had been easy enough—some fighting here and there—not too difficult. The werewolves had been a break from all the darkspawn, so that was something. The Circle Mages had been another story, but at least that was over now.

Then she had snapped at him.

All he did was make a joke. Nothing new; just one of his usual silly jokes that—he couldn't believe this part—actually made her _laugh_. She had looked sad and pensive. All he wanted to do was see her smile again and she _snapped_ at him. Called him an _oaf_ and told him to be quiet for the love of the ancestors. Reliving this moment caused him to slump down a bit further. He decided to think about nicer things instead.

***

When they had first set out, he had mostly kept to himself while in camp. Leliana was always more than happy to talk his ear off about her time in the Chantry. Maybe because he had also lived in the Chantry for a time and they had that in common? Yes, that must be it. Wynne was sweet and grandmotherly. Sten didn't talk to anyone, and Morrigan only spoke to him long enough to cut him down for every little thing he did or said. Maker, but that witch knew where to twist the knife for the maximum effect. She was nearly always able to get a rise out of him, and he hated it.

But the new warden—Helen—well, she was different.

At first, he was curious about her. Not many Grey Wardens were dwarves—let alone _female_ dwarves. He liked her fresh outlook on things, and he liked how she actually laughed at his sometimes rather weak attempts at humor. And most of all she listened to him when he needed to talk about Duncan and Ostagar. Sometimes it seemed like all he did was complain, but if it bothered her she didn't let on. She was vague about her own past. All he knew was that she was from Orzammar—but wasn't that where all dwarves came from? He was curious, but he didn't want to be rude and pry. The Chantry had taught him that much.

She fought like, well, something that fights really well. He'd come to expect her to be right at his side, shield in hand, sword flashing, ready to take on whatever came at them. She didn't ever just hang back and do cleanup. No, in fact, more than once he'd had to run after her to make sure she didn't get killed by rushing headlong into a mob of enemies. He'd learned to read her body language and knew by the set of her jaw when he needed to be ready to go after her. She didn't think she needed any protecting. Was that a dwarf thing, he wondered, or just her? And _who _had taught her to fight like that?

She was also quite easy on the eyes and _that_ certainly didn't hurt things. She was small, but very womanly. He had never seen such a voluptuous figure on any of the human women he'd known. And the elvish women? Forget it.

When was the first time he had really looked at her? That day when something had flipped the switch in Alistair's brain, turning the simple and easy friendship between two comrades in arms into this _thing_ that made his palms sweat, his stomach lurch, and his face feel hot. He remembered feeling like this once as a boy when he had eaten some bad cheese. He was pretty sure there wasn't any bad cheese this time. This time it was just _her_.

It had been warm that day. The group was lounging around the camp in leggings and undershirts, trying to stay cool. Helen was playing with the dog by dangling food in the air and making him jump for it. Alistair watched with a smile as the dog (she insisted on calling him Fluffy for some reason) jumped higher and higher for the bits of food, causing Helen to shriek with laughter. It was a lovely day and he could almost pretend that all was well in the world.

Then the laughter turned into a scream and Alistair jumped up, reaching for his sword but—blast it!—the sword wasn't there of course. And neither was the armor. Maker, what could he possibly do for her in _pants_?? As he started to run over to save his friend, he stopped short.

Helen was lying on the ground with the dog on top of her licking her face. It looked like the animal had pushed her down and the shock of hitting the ground had caused the scream. Alistair watched as she laughed, turning her head from side to side and pushing the dog off of her. "Fluffy! Oh! Heeheehee! Off, Fluffy!" The dog jumped off, tongue lolling and tail wagging furiously, as Helen sat up and looked at Alistair.

The first thing he noticed was her hair. It was tousled and in her face. A couple of the little braids she liked to wear in it had come loose. Then he looked at her face. It was flushed pink, along with her lips. Her eyes were the most brilliant, shining green he had ever seen. She was beautiful.

As his gaze traveled downwards, he noticed that her undershirt had come unlaced and one of her shoulders was bared and oh sweet Maker's mercy, was that the better part of her breast he was seeing?

"You're going to catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that, Alistair." He jumped and turned at the voice. Wynne stood behind him, smiling.

"Do you always sneak up on people like that?" he asked, aware that his face was turning redder by the moment.

"You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were...enraptured."

He wanted to crawl into a hole. "I gazed...glanced, in that direction, maybe, but I wasn't staring...or really seeing anything even."

Wynne smiled again (why did she have to _smile _like that?). "Of course.

Aww, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute."

"I hate you. You're a bad person."

Wynne laughed and walked away.

He turned back towards Helen, but she had already picked herself up off the ground, smoothed her hair and straightened out her clothing. Smiling, she waved at him. He feebly waved back.

"Alistair, you'd better get back in your tent; you're starting to burn." He turned around again. Leliana was standing behind him. "You're awfully red. Do you feel alright?"

Oh Maker, when was this going to _end_? "I'm fine."

"I also burn very easily. I have a cream that you can use if…"

He made a strangled sound. "I think I need to lie down."

"Oh!" Leliana said, "Are you ill?"

"Not yet."

***

Alistair shifted his weight on the log and sighed. Since that day, he couldn't stop _looking _at her. What was happening? Since when did feeling so sick feel so _good_? He found himself blushing all the time now, tripping over his tongue whenever she spoke to him, and oh the _thoughts_ he was having. He was happy that no one here could see into his mind because the images that were constantly flitting through his brain were not the kinds of things that he wanted to share with the party. For one, there were an awful lot of, er, steamy bits involved.

He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. And now this…she probably hated him now. He thought about the gift—the rose he had carried for all these miles that, somehow, miraculously, had never wilted. There was no way he could give that to her now. No way. He didn't want to imagine what she'd say. He had lost his chance.

"Alistair?"

He looked up. Helen stood before him, fingering the hem of her tunic. Her eyes were red and swollen. Had she been crying?

"Alistair? I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"What? Oh, yes, right. Did you shout at me? I didn't realize…"

"Alistair, shhh." Helen sat down next to him, placing her fingers over his lips. His eyes flew open as he stared at her.

"Helen…er…I…"

She pressed more firmly. "Alistair, I'm going to tell you something that will hopefully help you understand why I've been so short with you lately. It can't take back the way I've treated you, but maybe it can help you understand why I've been acting the way I have." He nodded mutely.

She removed her hand from his lips and took a deep breath. "How much do you know about dwarven royalty?"

"Is this a trick question? I was never very good at history, you know."

She sighed. "Just tell me what you know. Who is king?"

He didn't think it possible, but Alistair was becoming even more confused. Why was she asking him this? "Umm…Aeducan, right? King Endrin?" There. He got one right.

She nodded. "Do you know anything else about his family?"

He closed his eyes and thought. "There are 3 children, right? Two boys and a girl…and oh Andraste's flaming sword, you're the girl, aren't you?" _This _was interesting.

She held her head up proudly. "I am the middle child of King Endrin Aeducan.

Princess of the House Aeducan." Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked down, a single drop falling on Alistair's thigh. "At least I used to be."

"Ohhh…" Alistair had heard something about this. Vague stories about the exiled princess who had betrayed her family and killed her own brother. He looked at Helen, who was now weeping quietly in front of him, and thought that there was no way that story could possibly be true.

"They say you killed your brother." He murmured. "I'm not sure I believe it, though."

Helen looked up and sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I did kill my brother." Alistair's eyes opened wide. "Trian. I killed him." She hiccupped. "I…I was framed. By my own brother, Bhelen who thought this would be a good way to get both Trian and me out of the way so he could become the next king. They called me Kinslayer and exiled me to wander the Deep Roads until I was killed by the darkspawn."

Alistair took her hands. "And Duncan saved your life…" he said softly.

"Yes. He did." Helen sighed. "I guess you can see now why I'm not really in a big hurry to visit Orzammar again. It's not exactly home any more. The people…they're going to say awful things to me. I don't want to go, but I have to. For the Grey Wardens. To end this Blight. It's my duty." She pulled herself up straight again and blew her nose on a handkerchief. "And I shouted at you because I have been so worried about this. I hurt my best friend, and I am truly sorry for that."

He felt the blood rush in his head. "Um…er…yes. It's alright. Really. I'm not just saying that, either." Maker, but could he possibly be less suave? "I'm glad you told me this."

She smiled at him. "And I'm glad I told you. Thank you for always listening to me." She squeezed his hands and kissed him softly on the cheek.

As he watched her walk back to her tent, Alistair touched the spot that she had kissed and smiled lopsidedly. He thought of the rose in his pack and decided that if neither of them were killed tomorrow and if he didn't lose his nerve altogether, he might have to give it to her after all.


End file.
